


Variation on a Theme

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Ambushes and Sneak Attacks, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Best Friends, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Cave-In, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hiding Medical Issues, Infiltration, Interrogation, Ironhide is Not Happy, Late Night Conversations, Major Character Injury, Medical Procedures, Platonic Cuddling, Prisoner of War, Rescue Missions, Surgery, Sweet Ending, Trapped, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-04 09:30:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 14,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3062729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Optimus Prime and Ratchet fall victim to one of Megatron's most reused schemes and the Autobots must choose between learning secrets that could win the war or trying to save their leader and his medic, who are already presumed offline.</p><p>For some of them, it's not even a choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Ironhide, Hound, Mirage, Ratchet, Bumblebee—transform and roll out!”

When Optimus had been informed of the Decepticon attack on a nearby power station, one that stood quite near to a densely populated area, he had taken some of his best to deal with the disturbance.

Megatron had taken his best as well: Soundwave, Starscream, Thundercracker, Skywarp, and others. The Autobots opened fire almost before Optimus could give the order, leaving their leader to contend with Megatron.

“You never give up, do you, Megatron?” Optimus snarled as he seized the other side of the energon crate Megatron had claimed. They twirled in circles around each other like incensed cats, dragging it back and forth from each other.

“I should be surprised that you’re only just realizing that after so many eons, Prime, but I’m not! You always were stupider than I imagined!” Megatron retorted, releasing the crate suddenly and causing Optimus to reel back from the sudden release of force. Somersaulting into the air, Megatron transformed into his weapon mode and landed in Soundwave’s waiting hand. Optimus _barely_ had time to fling the crate away from him before Soundwave fired, detonating the energon inside. The explosion threw Prime into a grouping of boulders, where he lay stunned.

Ratchet got to him first. “Prime, can you hear me? Are you alright?”

With the skill of a warrior who had often shrugged off pain, he silenced the mauve alerts in his processor. “I’m fine,” he grunted, struggling to stand and finding more mauve alert bubbles cautioning him.

Ratchet’s teal-blue optics contracted, looking him over critically. “Some second-degree burns, energon container fragments in the lower left of the chassis,” he muttered, more to himself than to Optimus. “It can wait.”

Optimus rose with Ratchet’s help, but he found his feet growing increasingly unsteady. When Ratchet lurched, scrambling to maintain purchase on his arm, the Prime knew it wasn’t just his own rattled processor.

“Prime, it’s Rumble!” Mirage shouted from afar.

It was the only warning Prime could hear over the sound of crumbling earth. It was a fairly common occurrence for Megatron to try causing Optimus damage by shoving him down a canyon. Optimus was familiar with what came next—the sensation of his insides rising into his throat cables and then plunging back down again—but it didn’t sicken him any less. If his processor powers weren’t so disjointed, he would have wondered how the Decepticons didn’t get airsick as they ( _he_ ) tumbled through open space.

He hit bottom at last, the mauve pain alerts richening into flashing red. Prime’s vents wheezed much like lungs would gasp for breath as he tried and failed to push the distress aside. His EM field brushed another and he just _knew_ Ratchet had fallen with him. He didn’t know whether to be glad or worried.

Worried, he decided immediately as the rumbling failed to stop. Rather it increased and the last thing Optimus heard was a panicked cry from one of the other Autobots—Ironhide?—before the collection of boulders above came thundering down upon him.

///\\\\\

Ratchet didn’t know how much time had passed when he returned to awareness. All he knew was that he was curled in an awkward qwoping position that shouldn’t have been possible for a Cybertronian. Thrashing to right himself, he felt a sharp pain in the side of his neck cables, making his vents quicken. His intake was laced with velvety filth, underlaid with the sharp copper tang of energon.

Turning his helm awkwardly, the medic could see a fractured image of rock through his dusty optic lenses. Ratchet jerked again and felt the same pain in his throat, but that was nothing compared to the overwhelming sense of urgency gripping his spark.

After a few moments Ratchet summoned up the strength to turn onto his right side and caught sight of—

He hadn’t been alone in the collapse, Ratchet remembered in horror. “Op—Optimus? Optimus!” he said yet heard nothing but static. Stretching his hand out as far as he could, Ratchet brushed the Prime’s audial fin and tried again, managing a croak. “ _Please_ answer me, Prime…”

The other Autobot groaned faintly, lifting his dented helm from its improvised pillow. His blue optics went wide, trying to focus on the medic sprawled nearby.

“Ratchet, are you alright?” he asked in a hushed voice.

“I think so,” Ratchet assured him, his following smile more of a grimace. “I’m just stuck.”

Optimus lay motionless for about a minute before forcing himself onto his knees, his suppressed grunts of discomfort too easy for Ratchet’s trained audials to hear. “No, don’t get up,” Ratchet protested, although it was technically too late. “Optimus, you need to rest—look at you, you’re injured!”

“I’ll have you out in a nanoklik,” was Optimus’ answer. “Take my hand.”

Ratchet huffed under his breath, “You’re glitched, you know that?” and wrapped his fingers around Optimus’ wrist. The rotator cup in his shoulder strained, but Ratchet said nothing. When he finally had a good grip on his friend, he nodded. “Ready.”

Optimus proceeded to haul Ratchet out from underneath the rocks trapping him—far faster than he had expected. His body protested with agonizing creaks and snaps. Ratchet yelped in Cybertronian and, bless their home Tongue, it caused Optimus to realize how he’d hurt him and stop.

“I’m okay,” Ratchet ground out before his alarmed leader could ask, shuttering his optics as his EM field throbbed otherwise. “Let me rest for a second.”

Optimus said nothing but moved around him, deciding to go at the rocks instead. At last Ratchet could feel his legs, but Optimus seemed reluctant to let him try using them. Ratchet couldn’t help his relief when Optimus maneuvered his arms beneath him and carried him away from the pile of rubble.

The two of them sank down on the other side of their little crevice, silent and still. Despite the uncomfortable settings, Ratchet could sense recharge beckoning. He ignored it momentarily, onlining his optics to glance at his comrade. Prime was already out cold, though Ratchet couldn’t tell if it were due to exhaustion or the dent in his helm. Likely both, Ratchet surmised worriedly, moving to loop his arm around the Prime’s shoulders.

Searing pain crippled that movement and Ratchet clutched at his shoulder, biting back a blasphemy. His spark clenched, faintly causing him to wonder if Jazz was with them, playing ominous music in the background as he discovered the energon pooling in his shoulder joint.


	2. Chapter 2

Ironhide paced back and forth in front of the medical bay, his fingers clenched tightly together behind him to withhold the temptation of punching the first person he saw.

That turned out to be Wheeljack, emerging from the med bay with a grim expression. “Wheeljack, you’d better have a good idea o’ what we should do with our prisoner, cos if not I’m headin’ right back to the excavation site, divin’ right back into that rubble an’ nothin’ short o’ Primus appearin’ before your eyes is goin’ t’get me out again!”

“Well, I’m…gonna talk to Perceptor about it,” Wheeljack admitted. Ironhide glowered and the scientist took a few healthy steps back.

“Listen, he’s in stasis at the moment. All the Autobot forces ganging up on you can do that to a mech, right?”

Ironhide snorted. “I should think so.”

“Right,” Wheeljack affirmed his own words. “But if he’s in stasis, we can’t interrogate him. We’d have to perform major processor surgery to get answers out of him! And for that…” Wheeljack’s gaze flickered downward and Ironhide finished his sentence:

“We’d need _Ratchet_.” Growling, Ironhide pivoted and turned his gaze to the other side of the hall, imagining a hole torn through the wall into the crew quarters. At present he didn’t care about the aftermath of angry shouting—none of it seemed to match the emotion he felt right now. To expel some of the rumbling rage squeezing his spark dry, he _needed_ that hole to be there.

He was about to throw himself at said wall when Huffer stomped down the hall toward him, blanketed in dust. “We’ve hit a roadblock, just like I knew we would, Ironhide. There’s a boulder larger than the others, plugging the hole.”

“So use explosives,” Ironhide barked. “Set up Wheeljack’s laboratory there, somethin’!”

“Well, we could, but we don’t know how far below the surface the bod—” Huffer nervously rebooted his vocalizer and revised, “—the _boss_ and Ratchet are. We might hurt them, if they’re not hurt already, which is unlikely.”

Ironhide could sense a helm-ache pressing in behind his optics. In a very human gesture he ran a hand down his faceplates and muttered, “Alright, then. Wheeljack, Huffer, round up everyone you can find an’ take ’em to the site. Try t’lift that rock. We’re gonna get Prime and Ratchet outta that mess if it’s the last thing we do, understand?”

As his friends took off, Ironhide glared at the insultingly intact wall and turned sharply, stalking into the medical bay. The prostrate form in the corner didn’t stir, so Ironhide approached, studying the Decepticon with steady, cold optics.

“You. Didn’t think we’d ever get t’have a conversation to ourselves, didja?” _More like I’m talking_ at _him_ , Ironhide thought to himself, but he didn’t dare say that aloud just in case the prisoner was somehow feigning his stasis lock. Gingerly he reached out, jabbing at the Con’s arm and receiving no reaction.

“You better hope Optimus an’ Ratchet come out alive,” Ironhide said in a soft voice, leaning down next to the white-painted audial of his prisoner. “Cos if not, I don’t care about whatever you’ve got in that filthy casque o’ yours—I’m gonna scrap you an’ send you back t’Megatron in tiny little pieces.” Rapping his finger joints against the silent mech’s chamfron, he hissed, “You get that, Soundwave?!”

///\\\\\

“‘Set up Wheeljack’s laboratory there,’” Wheeljack mocked Ironhide bitterly as soon as he was out of audial range. “I don’t blow things up that often, do I, Huff?”

Huffer sighed and shook his helm, a cloud of dust rising from his shoulders. “Usually you’re headed for stasis by the time the rest of the lab catches fire, so of course you don’t know how many times we’ve had to deal with the gory aftermath.”

Wheeljack sulked behind his facemask as he ran the words over mentally. “Hm. Maybe…maybe I _should_ set up my lab there,” he said thoughtfully.

Huffer tripped over his own feet and narrowly caught himself, squeaking, “What?! You can’t mean that! It would be a catastrophe; more than just two of us would end up offline!”

“No, listen to me!” Wheeljack argued, shoving his companion. “I can analyze the rock, see, and probably come up with something that’ll melt it down harmlessly!” His pride at the genius idea waned a bit as he absorbed what Huffer had said. “Wait—‘more than just two of us’? What d’you mean by that?”

Huffer took on a face of shame, fidgeting as he murmured, “Prime and Ratchet…How can we be sure we’re not doing all this for morale?”

Wheeljack felt something small and vulnerable quiver in his chest. “You can’t really believe that,” he refuted the thought, dismayed.

“Not completely,” Huffer agreed grimly. “But I can’t be completely hopeful either.”

“Shut up,” Wheeljack snapped. “You’re such a _pessimist_.” The insult was one Huffer had been treated to multiple times, so it didn’t sting as much as Wheeljack wanted it to as he sped up his pace toward his lab.

 _Of course they’re not offline!_ Wheeljack told himself sternly as he swept his tools into a set of kits and worked on picking all of them up at once. _If anybody can survive something like that, it’d be Optimus and Ratchet. Prime’s the toughest cookie of us all and Ratchet, hoo-boy, he could kick and scream his way through the Cybonic Plague!_

Wheeljack had to smile at that thought, nonetheless following it with a furious curse when he lost ahold of the kit on the top of his pile. Instead of the crash he’d expected, he heard, “Be careful with that, okay?”

“It’s my stuff,” Wheeljack reminded Huffer sourly, peeking out from behind the stack of science kits to glower at him.

“I know, but we’re gonna need every piece of it if we want to melt rocks, right?” Huffer still looked somewhat reluctant as he spoke, but Wheeljack noticed how he held himself had changed—he stood a little straighter, a little more hopeful.

“If this is what insulting you gets me,” Wheeljack commented as Huffer relieved him of part of his load, “I should do it more often.”

“Don’t even think about it unless you _want_ some of this stuff broken.”

“ _You_ don’t even think about _that_ unless you want to be blown up.”

That ended the conversation.


	3. Chapter 3

Optimus startled out of recharge when he felt gentle fingertips brush over his chest plate. Ratchet jerked his hand back and winced, apologizing. “I just wanted to check on your burns.”

“They’ll heal,” was all Optimus said. “How are you?”

Ratchet shrugged almost infinitesimally. “Eh. How bad off can I be? I’m just stuck beneath a few tons of rock.” Sobering, he added, “Then again, how _well_ off can I be?” Leaning forward, he squinted at Optimus’ middle. “I should try to get the energon container fragments out of your chassis.”

“No, it’s just cybre-glass, nothing fatal,” Optimus brushed him off as he beheld the makeshift rock ceiling just a few centimeters over his helm. It seemed stable enough, but Optimus could faintly hear pebbles bouncing somewhere, though he couldn’t focus to see them fall. Shouldn’t the debris have settled by now?

“The others will be looking for us,” Ratchet commented, his tone too _steady_ to be anything other than a question.

“Of course,” Optimus agreed. “I know for certain that Ironhide and Mirage saw the accident happen—”

“Sure, _accident_ ,” Ratchet spat. “From Megatron’s standpoint—if I didn’t know better—I’d say the Decepticons attacked that power plant just to trap us with this little outcrop of boulders.”

Optimus glanced at him sharply. “From Megatron’s standpoint…with their leader gone, the Autobots wouldn’t have a course of action. They’d be distracted with rescue plans, therefore making a weaker defense.”

Ratchet’s anger softened into worry. “And when the Cons caused incredible damage to said weaker defense, the Autobot medic wouldn’t be there to help. Primus, we literally fell for it!”

The two friends fell silent, the words hanging in the air, making the tight space seem to close in even further. “Are we too far down for radio communication?” Optimus asked softly, already knowing the answer.

“I tried contacting them when you were recharging. No response,” Ratchet sighed, rebooting his vocalizer to add, “What I wouldn’t give for some energon and a thermal tarp.”

“You’re cold?” Optimus asked in surprise. “The small space should be holding in our plating heat.”

Ratchet sighed. “True, but it’s not exactly a thermostat.”

Optimus’ reply was cut off by a muted, rumbling creak. He flinched, hunkering down in an attempt to make himself smaller.

“The ceiling is a little lower than before,” Ratchet stated, his voice barely above a whisper as though he feared any louder would cause an avalanche. The dim light they had become accustomed to was waning also.

 _Dusk must be falling_ , Optimus realized. He decided not to mention that; when they were young, Ratchet had always been uneasy about being out after dark. Being under might cause him even greater panic. The medic’s sudden shivering, however, informed him that he probably didn’t need to say anything.

///\\\\\

 _How can he recharge so easily?_ Ratchet wondered, staring at the Prime, who was curled up facing away from him. _He’s larger than I am! He must be uncomfortable, but he just settles down anyway!_

Ratchet envied him, but he was also overcome with a sense of relief. He was now alone. Sitting up cautiously, not wanting to slam his helm on the falling ceiling, he turned the light of his optics toward his shoulder.

He had to get in there somehow to find the cut, but he had no tools. _Old-fashioned way, then_. Awkwardly repositioning his arm, Ratchet gingerly reached his other hand into the crevice where the joint was located.

It was crusty and stiff, he noted. That’s why he couldn’t move his arm very well. Dried energon was quite a pain to flush out; the dust stuck in there with it would be worse. Behind the hard layer, however, Ratchet could feel sickeningly warm moisture.

_The past discharge has clotted, but it’s still leaking? Primus…_

He ought to tell Optimus. He’d known ever since he’d discovered the injury that he should tell him, but there never seemed an opportune moment. What was he going to say? “By the way, I’ve been hiding a continuously-bleeding, possibly-infected wound from you ever since you pulled me out of the rubble”?

That was all he could say, but he hated the way it sounded in his processor and knew he’d hate it even more aloud.

 _Not yet. When the time’s right, I’ll know how to say it_ , he assured himself, refocusing on the wound in question. Something was preventing him from moving his shoulder properly. Stiffness came with injuries such as this, but it had to be something more.

Ratchet froze when he heard his companion stir. “What are you doing?” Optimus asked wearily.

“Just thinking,” Ratchet replied, his spark roiling and making him dizzy. “I don’t need recharge right now; I haven’t reached my limit.”

“You make me feel pathetic; I’ve been on and off all day,” Optimus chuckled, not turning over to watch him but sounding more alert, much to Ratchet’s anxiety.

“Well, you took a dent to the helm—you shouldn’t be overburdening yourself.”

“Says the one who _supposedly_ hasn’t reached his limit? I’ve known you long enough to recognize your exhausted vocal tone.”

Ratchet knew this was the right time, blurting, “Alright, yes, I’m exhausted. Fatigue is a symptom of…” Just like a gushing faucet with a turned handle, he faltered to a stop.

 _Tell him_ now _or you never will!_ his spark screamed.

“Infection,” he finished savagely. “My left shoulder, Optimus. I’m wounded and I’m sorry I kept it from you.” As he turned, his words hitched in despair. His confession had fallen on recharging—and therefore deaf—audials.

“Scrap,” Ratchet whispered mournfully, turning his back to Optimus and folding into himself for a long night.


	4. Chapter 4

Cliffjumper straightened from the perpendicular position he’d locked himself into and stumbled back from the sinkhole. Much to his surprise, he found his place immediately taken by Hauler, who was currently in charge. No one wanted the crew to be cut short by weariness, apparently. It was long past dusk now and yet they were still at work. Some were in their alt. modes, not resting but turning on their brightest headlights so the others could see. Others were coming back from the _Ark_ , bearing energon for refueling those who were fading fast.

Trudging a few yards away from the chatter and construction, Cliffjumper sank down onto one of the rocks that had already been moved, trying to dig dirt out of the niches in his armor. When he finally acknowledged that it was futile, especially since he would likely be heading back into the rubble soon enough, he let himself faze out and hoped it would restore some of his energy.

“They never stop, do they?”

Cliffjumper startled, weapons charging with a whine that hurt his head, until a staying hand materialized on his arm. The rest of the limb appeared afterward, followed by a sympathetic smile.

“Mirage,” Cliffjumper greeted him in relief, dropping his weapons. He glanced at those near the wreckage and agreed, “No, they don’t. Why were you invisible?”

“It helps me relax by giving me the illusion—pardon the pun!—of being alone,” Mirage explained. “I can think to myself without anyone prying.”

“Well, that’s an _offer_ for me to pry,” Cliffjumper joked. “What do you think about?”

Sobering, Mirage answered, “Right now…what everyone else is thinking about.”

“It’s all about Prime and the doc right now,” Cliffjumper concurred, settling his chin in his hands. “Everyone’s running on fumes, but they just won’t give up.”

“Are you giving up?” Mirage asked in concern.

Cliffjumper scoffed. “Of course not! I just think for everyone’s sake we should call it a night and return in the morning.”

“But no one’s thinking for their own sake,” Mirage insisted, pausing to consider his words. “On second thought, maybe they are. We all know what Ironhide would do to us if we tried returning to base without Hauler’s explicit permission.”

Cliffjumper suppressed a shiver and lowered his tone. “What about Soundwave?”

Mirage cocked his helm slightly. “What about him?”

“Megatron is going to be busting his afterburner trying to get Soundwave back, just like we’re doing for Prime and Ratchet,” Cliffjumper burst out. “Don’t you think we’re just inviting disaster, spending all our time here when we should be back guarding the base?”

“Hm. You might be right,” Mirage murmured. “You just go back to work, okay? Give Hauler your best behavior.”

“What’re you going to do?” Cliffjumper asked as he rose, already feeling the stiffness returning to his legs and backstrut.

Mirage rose with him, smirking slightly. “I’m going for a think.” With that he vanished, leaving only dusty footprints as he strode for the base.

///\\\

Mirage slowed as he approached the entrance of the _Ark_ , keeping his footfalls soft. He narrowly dodged Sideswipe as he drove by with cases of energon for the workers and went inside, feeling uneasy even though he knew these halls like he knew his own circuitry—no, like Ratchet knew it. That thought nearly brought him to a stop, but he knew he needed to keep to his mission. That’s what Prime would want.

Though there were no guards in the area, the medical bay doors were resolutely shut, much to Mirage’s chagrin. That almost certainly meant there was a second line of defense _inside_.

 _Or what if Soundwave is setting up a little infiltration center in there?!_ Mirage thought frantically. He couldn’t be sure. If it were simply the first defense, he would rush in only to reveal himself to whoever was inside with Soundwave. If not, he could catch Soundwave in the act of sabotage!—download of crucial information!—brutally offlining a comrade!

Screwing up his courage, he was about to charge when the doors opened, causing him to stop short. Ironhide peered into the hallway, his gaze sharp and unusually cold. Mirage froze, pressing against the wall and struggling not to ventilate. Even a puff of air could reveal his presence.

The spy watched nervously as Ironhide stalked out of the med bay, staring right through him toward the wall. After a crucial moment, Ironhide turned, slamming a fist into the wall bare centimeters from Mirage’s throat cables, above his right shoulder. Mirage flinched involuntarily and ducked Ironhide’s arm, leaping through the bay doors right before they slid shut.

Releasing his deprived vents, Mirage uncloaked himself and then regretted it, his optics darting to the stasis-locked Decepticon nearby.

“You wouldn’t mind siccing one of your Recordicons on me, would you? It’d be playing dirty to ambush me,” Mirage whispered, wondering if he was being heard. “You don’t usually do that unless Megatron orders it. Has he ordered you to infiltrate the Autobot base?”

Edging closer, Mirage studied the EKG set up for Soundwave’s spark pulse. They had done a good deal of damage to him, Mirage recalled, shuddering as he also remembered what came right before that. He had been the first to see Rumble leaping out of Soundwave’s chest. That high-pitched laughter and the low-pitched cracking of earth with the screams of their leader and medic creating a perfect syncing note, it was going to haunt him, especially if said leader and medic didn’t make it out online.

“You’re quite the villain, Soundwave,” Mirage burst out, trying to fill the ominous silence. “And yet you never seem to get your hands dirty. You let others do all the work for you. I’m surprised that Megatron hasn’t promoted you to _second_ -in-command yet. You’re his steadiest officer, you and your tapes.” Cautiously Mirage reached out, tapping Soundwave’s chest and neck with sharp clicks, then nodding in relief.

“Okay. You seem stable enough. You’re not going to offline suddenly and you’re not going to come around suddenly. You’re safe enough, I think.”

 _Mission completed_. Mirage glanced down, ready to punch in his cloaking code, and saw a glimpse of what almost looked like a tricycle before a claw locked around his throat.


	5. Chapter 5

Recharged completely at last, Optimus sat up happily and greeted pre-dawn with a loud clang as his forehelm struck rock. Yelping, he rubbed the new dent tentatively as Ratchet stirred.

“What’re you doing, Prime?” Ratchet scolded, pulling his hand away and bent over to inspect the wound. “I thought the Matrix ruled out clumsiness.”

“But it also rules out shortness of body,” Optimus grumbled. “The ceiling—”

“—is getting lower.” Ratchet finished quietly. “I know.”

Optimus didn’t look at him. “I heard it shifting all night.”

“You weren’t recharging?” Ratchet asked, astonished.

“I was, intermittently,” Optimus clarified. “I don’t think I’ll get a good night’s recharge again until I’m back in my chamber.”

Ratchet leaned back on his heels and mumbled, “If you see it again.”

“What do you mean by that?” Optimus demanded, even though he already knew the answer. He would never admit it, but his hope also had dimmed with the light. He wouldn’t blame the Autobots if they gave up when the darkness came, but he _would_ be bitterly disappointed—right before he went offline.

Ratchet seemed to sense his thoughts. “They won’t give up, even though for their sakes it might be better if they did.”

Optimus couldn’t help but smile a little as he replied somewhat distantly, “No one gets left behind.”

Ratchet laughed weakly, slumping against the rocks behind him. “I remember that. We were on Athenia, trying to build a secondary base there, right?”

“We had literally just finished when Megatron found it,” Optimus sighed. “Someone had leaked our position. I never did find out who it was, but I told you to evacuate everyone, even those we might suspect of being the traitor.”

Ratchet looked mildly embarrassed but continued, “I defied you. I just couldn’t bear the thought of having a Con on board the shuttles with all those wounded, helpless Bots. That’s when you said it: no one gets left behind, so I threw my pride to the Pit and obeyed you. Of course, right when I was securing the last passengers, Megatron shot me in the back and _I_ almost got left behind!”

“I wouldn’t have let that happen,” Optimus protested.

“And you didn’t,” Ratchet agreed affectionately. Optimus nodded firm acknowledgement and leaned forward, squeezing his friend’s warm shoulder. Ratchet’s EM field unfurled against his and Optimus was abruptly informed of what pain he was in.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Your EM field is telling me otherwise.”

Ratchet looked frozen for a second. “Fine. I just want you to know, I’m not _wounded_ , per se, but it’s seriously cramped down here and I think I’ve got a really bad kink somewhere. It’s been hurting ever since we got trapped and since the ceiling seems intent on giving us even _less_ room than we have…”

As if on cue, the rock above them shuddered, immediately mimicked by Ratchet. Optimus lowered himself until he was practically prostrate and prayed the sun would rise completely in good time. If they were going to be crushed, at least they could have a bit more light for it.

///\\\\\

 _You caught a nova, you glitched tin can!_ Ratchet screamed at himself. _You could have told him and you fed him some scrap about a strain!_

He truly did feel horrible. The words had seemed to come out before he had even thought them up, but that wasn’t the only reason. He could feel his temperature heating and his equilibrium was starting to churn. Energon loss was a nasty thing to deal with. He needed to perform debridement as well as he could and then suture the wound, but how on earth was he going to do so with Optimus mere millimeters from him?

At present the Prime was trying to readjust his position to make as much room for Ratchet as possible. _He’s too compassionate_ , Ratchet thought miserably. _He probably hopes more space will work out my pulled joint—_

 _That’s it_. Ratchet stole a glance at Optimus, who was rather pathetically flattened against the wall. If Optimus already thought he had a pulled joint, he could inspect his shoulder without any suspicion. His leader would simply think he was trying to lessen his pain, which was indeed the truth. The lie was simply the matter of what was _causing_ the pain.

Thus he began another investigation of the area, eager to end this injury nonsense. Clenching his jaw, he fumbled as he found the particular place he wanted. As he strained to reach further, he found his fingers catching on something he didn’t recognize. He brushed over it again, trying to analyze the texture. It certainly wasn’t glass or metal…oh.

“Primus,” his vocalizer hummed in the lowest of undertones. A stone shard, embedded in his shoulder. Here was the cause of his pain and also the reason why he hadn’t been bleeding nearly as much energon as he ought to be. That was the only pro of the situation, really, Ratchet realized. He _needed_ that debridement now— _right_ _now_.

 _This should never be done in an unsterile environment!_ Ratchet’s medical training bemoaned the process. _I’m breaking so many rules with this_. And yet he could never be sure how soon the other Autobots would rescue them. He could offline before they were found if he didn’t do this.

Elevating his arm on a small outcrop in the makeshift rock wall, he sat still, wondering if this was worth it. Would Optimus think it was worth it if he knew? Die now due to debridement complications and energon loss or die later due to _infection_ and energon loss?

Until he could decide, he needed to put some pressure on his joint, try to stop the bleeding. It was making it unbelievably difficult to think. Stifling a groan, Ratchet pressed his hand in as far as he could, trying to work around the astonishingly sharp rock fragment.

After several minutes of poor results, Ratchet dropped his hand into his lap, his optics shuttered and ventilations heavy. He wasn’t getting anywhere with his decision; he might as well recharge for a time instead of taking any more risk of getting caught by—

“Ratchet?” Optimus’ voice startled him and made his reaction time too late. The Prime’s large fingers clamped firmly around his wrist and yanked his sensitive, energon-wet hand into easy view. Ratchet’s optics flickered fearfully to Optimus’. The anger he saw burning in the usually-cool blue gaze spoke distinct volumes, as did the simple words: “You _are_ wounded.”

Ratchet felt dread make his spark sink lower in its cradle and he wished this hole were a few miles deeper so he could crawl into it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who don't know, "caught a nova" is a phrase meaning the subject is doing something stupid and is going to suffer for it. e.g. "Man, Cliffjumper just went and charged Bruticus by himself again! He's going to be catching a nova if he keeps it up."


	6. Chapter 6

As he pitched the tune tumbling through his processor, Jazz swept a few pebbles away under his foot and hummed along experimentally. He was willing to admit to himself that his vocalizer was hoarse and therefore didn’t sound very good. He was almost giddy with exhaustion and for that he needed to bring himself around with some rock.

“As if I’m not already surrounded with it,” he quipped in an undertone, wishing someone would overhear and laugh. Everyone else had barely spoken other than to say “Yes, sir” or “Where should I start another rock pile?” and Jazz had persisted in trying to boost their spirits, but no one seemed to pay attention to him.

 _Optimus probably would’ve laughed at that rock joke_. Jazz couldn’t help hearing the discouraging thought in his processor underneath the heavy bass notes. Trying to drown it out, he tried outright singing instead of humming.

“ _Whoa…we’re halfway there…who-o-a, livin’ on a prayer. Take my hand, we’ll make_ —”

“Outta the way!”

Jazz barely managed to leap back before a boulder slammed down where he’d been standing. “Hey, man, what’re you doin’?!” Jazz demanded, frowning at Brawn, whose helm had appeared from the side of the boulder.

“Jazz, we have work to do!” Brawn protested. “You gotta watch where you stand around here; a few others already have some pretty nasty dents.”

“No thanks to you,” Jazz put in, starting to understand how snappish the others were even though he cringed, regretted the words as soon as he said them. _Pull it together_ , he commanded himself sternly.

Brawn rolled his optics, adopting Jazz’s tone as he remarked, “And yet I’m doing quite a lot of the work.”

Jazz rarely got angry—with _anyone_ , really. Whenever he was, he could feel an odd sort of static frizzing through his speakers, like his own private thunder. At present it had gone from thunder to lightning and he knew for his own sake he needed to leave. After all, Brawn could handle the work, he reminded himself caustically as he drove off in the direction of the _Ark_.

The sun was warm on his hood, calming him along with the cooling breeze. If it weren’t for that place he’d just left, Jazz might think this was a regular morning. Maybe if he could think of it that way, he wouldn’t be as tired.

“ _We’ve gotta hold on to what we’ve got; it doesn’t make a difference if we make it or not_ ,” he sang almost inaudibly when he was some twenty yards from the entrance to the base. “ _We’ve got each other and that’s a lot—_ of Decepticons!” he gasped, slamming on his brakes and skidding out as the flyers screamed over him, retracing his path toward the excavation site.

“Scrap,” Jazz cursed, performing a prompt volte-face. The Cons had picked bad timing—his huffy exit wasn’t going to be nearly as dramatic now that he had to go back.

///\\\\\

Brawn barely had time to set down the rocks he was holding before laser fire was in the air. Growling in frustration, he steeled himself and tackled the nearest Decepticon, Bombshell, locking his arms around him even while he was hovering. The Insecticon wavered, struggling to remain in the air and dragging Brawn’s feet on the ground as he went.

“You think knocking my feet around is going to make me give up?” Brawn laughed, tightening his hold in the hopes of strangling his enemy.

“I hope not,” Bombshell hissed. “I want to do more than simply injure you!” Brawn was momentarily disoriented as the Insecticon twirled until he was hanging upside-down. His optics darted back and forth, trying to make sense of what was around him. It was all a blur of colors, but he could still comprehend that the Decepticons were winning.

 _We haven’t recharged in days—we’re dirty and low on energon—we’re gonna lose this fight_.

Brawn felt a familiar twist in his chest that he had succumbed to in almost every battle here on Earth. He had to find safety and comfort. He needed to play himself up, regain his confidence, prove he wasn’t afraid. He _wasn’t_ afraid—somewhere deep down, somewhere he never went by conscious choice, he was petrified.

His train of thought was interrupted when his back slammed into stone, screeching hideously as Bombshell scraped him back and forth against it. Moderate yellow pain alerts bubbled behind his optics and he tightened his grip around the Con’s neck. Everyone said he was known for his strength and he knew it too. Against all his better reasoning, he dabbled into his fear, filtering adrenaline out of it and pulling back, pressing himself against the rock even as the cuts in his back deepened. He could feel Bombshell’s vocalizer box against his forearms now—

The boulder was shifting. Brawn pushed forward now, trying to clamber over Bombshell toward the ground. Surprisingly enough, he managed to do so and landed on his knees as Bombshell fell behind him. There Brawn remained, his vents rattling and processor clicking faster than he could obey it.

 _Calm keep calm don’t fear keep calm get up don’t fear keep calm_ …

He rebooted his vocalizer like a human would swallow, trying to tamp down his anxiety. Someone grabbed his shoulder and he thrashed, cursing in alarm, preparing a punch with as much power as he could muster in this paralyzed state.

“Hey, man, you okay?” It was Jazz, Brawn realized, dropping his fist.

“I—yeah, I’m fine.” Anger was a more powerful emotion. “Did _you_ lead the Cons here with your trail, Jazz? Were you careful to cover your tracks or did you let them ambush us?!”

“Listen, the Cons already knew we were here. They already had the coordinates of our last battle,” Jazz argued. Whatever he was going to say next was cut off by the whine of dual weapons next to their audials. Brawn stiffened, casting a glance behind him to find Starscream, his own arm in weapon mode aimed at Jazz and Megatron in weapon mode aimed at him.


	7. Chapter 7

“Ratchet,” Optimus spat again in a dangerous tone which had rarely, if ever, been aimed at the medic. “ _Why_ did you keep this from me?”

“I-I didn’t want you focusing on me when you ought to be recovering from your own injuries,” Ratchet stammered, futilely trying to tug his wrist out of Optimus’ grip. Optimus tugged back, forcing Ratchet to hunch over so he could inspect the energon coating his hand. It was thick, spread in more of a slather than a glaze, and looked hazily discolored in some places.

“Corruption,” he pointed out unnecessarily, glaring at his guilty companion as he placed his free hand further up on Ratchet’s forearm. He paused a moment and then moved that hand to Ratchet’s forehelm. “Hot plating. You’re ill.”

Ratchet’s vents hitched. “I’m not a sparkling, Prime,” he protested unconvincingly. “I’ll be alright.”

“But you knew it was going to get infected,” Optimus insisted. “Didn’t you?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No, I didn’t know, I just…”

“Suspected it?” Optimus pressed. “Considered it? _Guessed_?”

“Prime, don’t interrogate me like I’m an enemy. I thought there was no point in concerning you—”

“Well, I’m concerned now. Did you think I wouldn’t eventually notice?” Optimus remembered abruptly when he had been pulling Ratchet out from beneath the nearby rock pile—the creaking and snapping of his body, the way he’d cried out in their home Tongue and begged for a rest. He should have seen this coming from _far_ off and yet he hadn’t. _Perhaps this dent to my helm did more damage than I believed_ , Optimus thought bitterly.

“I had hoped that we would be out of here before it became a major problem,” Ratchet stated in level tones. Optimus simply squeezed Ratchet’s wrist and fumed silently. Without any tools or better light, he couldn’t do anything for his friend. A sudden, overwhelming rush of claustrophobia clamped onto his body like a parasite and he barely suppressed a shudder.

Ratchet took the opportunity to speak again. “I know I made a mistake and I’m sorry, Prime. But now you know and it’s done nothing but prove my point—I shouldn’t have concerned you because now you’re in a panic and our situation still hasn’t changed.”

Ratchet paused to let these words sink in and Optimus wanted them to because he realized they were true, but the only fact he could wrap his processor around was that Ratchet had been calling him ‘Prime’, not ‘Optimus’.

///\\\\\

“Let me see it.”

The question carried Ratchet out of the dizzy spell that had been sinking onto him. “What?”

“I will not allow your wounds to go unheeded, if only for the reason that you are _my_ only caregiver,” Optimus announced grimly. “I want to see it.”

Ratchet couldn’t help being a tiny bit impressed. Even down here, angry and concerned and hurt as he was, Prime was in full commander mode. Nodding tersely, Ratchet pulled out of Optimus’ grip and shook his hand a bit to return the circulation. Using that hand for balance, he repositioned himself, wincing as his shoulder stiffened at the sudden movement. Once he was settled, Ratchet propped up his arm on one knee.

“Be careful,” Ratchet blurted as Optimus approached. “It…hurts,” he finished meekly at the Prime’s startled expression. Optimus nodded acknowledgement and delicately turned Ratchet’s arm for a better view to the rotator cup in his shoulder. In a rare moment of syncope, Ratchet turned his helm away from the wound.

 **::Frell,::** Optimus cursed softly. “That’s rock embedded in there, isn’t it?”

“Mm-hm,” Ratchet confirmed tensely, jumping when he felt Optimus’ fingers brush close to the tender area. **::Frell!::** he echoed his leader in a harsher tone, wishing he could jerk away without causing himself more agony. It was then that he noticed Optimus had gone silent and still, his optics trained on the ceiling above.

“What is it?” Ratchet started, only to be shushed by a hand hovering over his face as though to clamp down on his mouth if need be. Following Optimus’ example, Ratchet looked upward. The ceiling was uninteresting, so it had to be something the Prime had heard. Ratchet strained his audials and caught the sound then. It was quite faint, yet undeniably there:

Weapons’ fire.

“Just as we predicted,” Optimus hissed, his voice rough with panic he was trying to smooth. “The Decepticons took the chance.”

Ratchet felt a dread chill roll over him as he felt a shockwave through the stone around them. If there had been any doubt in his thoughts, there wasn’t now. Something large was moving above ground, though what, he couldn’t tell. Then suddenly, like the vacuum of space, all the sounds were silenced. Ratchet and Optimus stared at each other, the same fear mirrored back and forth between them.

“Do you think—?” Ratchet whispered, his question ending in a strangled cry as half of the ceiling seesawed and then gave way.


	8. Chapter 8

Autoscout was the first of the cassettes to emerge from Soundwave’s chest. Laserbeak could feel the rest of his comrades shoving him, trying to empty out like the overflow from an energon canister, yet Soundwave hadn’t issued the order for it. Laserbeak’s ready processor wasn’t treated to the comforting voice of his master, so he hesitated emerging with the others.

Autoscout’s flat voice droned across their symbiotic bond. “ _Autobot—detected. Defensive—action—required._ ”

Laserbeak felt Ravage behind him, bumping him forward with all too much insistence and Laserbeak reluctantly accepted what was sure to come. “ _Proceed,_ ” he responded, immediately rewarded with a choked-off yelp of alarm. As Laserbeak surfaced, he saw Autoscout clinging determinedly to the throat of a finely built Autobot who wasn’t looking quite as dignified as he ought. Laserbeak swept him up in a scrutinizing glare and recognized him in the databanks: Mirage, Special Ops Espionage Agent.

‘Scout would need assistance, Laserbeak decided, guiding the way for Ravage and Ratbat. Laserbeak almost felt a touch of sympathy for the Bot, given his choices; Ravage simply wouldn’t be held back and Ratbat had made it clear many times that drinking the fluid of nobler Cybertronians was _his_ indulgence alone. Unfortunately for Mirage, being a Towersmech, he qualified.

“ _Stasis lock suggested_ ,” Laserbeak noted them. “ _ICS systems possibly active._ ” It was a worrying prospect—internal com. systems were quite the bother when it came to secrecy and Mirage would be practiced in using them due to his Special Ops rank. Speaking of stasis lock…

Laserbeak studied the vitals on the screen next to Soundwave, only looking up in irritation when Ravage went flying, narrowly catching himself on his feet before he hit the wall. Laserbeak messaged him, informing him that too much noise would send Autobot reinforcements. They had to take the Autobot down quickly and quietly while Laserbeak worked on reviving their master. Ravage understood but added with a hint of irritation to his wavelength that they needed better odds.

That irritation was well-deserved, Laserbeak thought with an unenthusiastic ex-vent. When Autoscout’s tires screeched on the polished floor, skidding out into a nearby desk, Laserbeak gave in and summoned Squawkbox.

“Alright, time to kick some Bot butt!”

Almost panicking, Laserbeak screeched a warning and jumped at Frenzy, clearly telling him not to interfere. The near-psychopathic cassette had been named accordingly; he and his brother were the definition of noise and that couldn’t be tolerated. They were _infiltrating_ —at least, that’s what Laserbeak hoped they were doing. He hadn’t realized how much he relied on his master’s guidance until it wasn’t there. Soundwave had to be revived and Laserbeak wouldn’t have time for that if Frenzy caused death and destruction.

“Beaky, get outta my way!” Frenzy shouted, trying to dodge Laserbeak’s wings and finding nowhere to go but backward. “I wanna get in on the action!”

With his throat free from Autoscout’s claw and his hands free from pulling at Autoscout himself, Mirage barely had time to push Ravage’s claws away from his face. They painfully grazed his chest instead, but it gave Squawkbox time to summon up one of his ‘battlefield dissonances’ at a frequency that was tuned to Mirage’s senses alone. As he arched in muted agony, Ratbat plunged.

///\\\\\

When Ratbat started squeaking maniacally—almost humorously—as he went for Mirage’s fuel tank, Frenzy couldn’t contain himself anymore. He had to escape Laserbeak! Leaping dangerously sideways from Soundwave’s chest onto the floor, he landed painfully yet forced himself up, lunging for the Autobot. He needed to get in his say, release his suppressed penchant for violence, before stasis lock took effect.

Mirage was fighting valiantly—and losing. Though he could barely focus due to Squawkbox’s frequencies, he did his best to throttle Ravage with his right hand and pry off Ratbat with his left. Frenzy observed with pleasure that energon slopped onto the floor with each aggressive movement.

Perhaps they would _kill_ an Autobot after all these years—after all, this may be the medical bay but the medic was nowhere in sight. Rumble caught that strand of thought through their bond and messaged him, his words unmistakably proud.

“ _That’s my doing. I got rid of him and Optimus Prime for good!_ ”

“ _Did not,_ ” Frenzy shot back angrily. He hated the prospect of being outdone by his brother and therefore sped up his pace, his laser fire hot with his enthusiasm.

Mirage sat bolt upright suddenly, twisting in a way that put Ravage between him and Frenzy’s weapons. Ravage hissed in pain, claws flailing to catch on Mirage’s armor wherever they could. Ratbat lost his hold and flew upward to regain his strength, spiraling over their heads. Laserbeak was still perched on Soundwave’s chest, codes he was downloading spinning across the screen beside him. For a moment Frenzy wondered if he saw his master’s fingers twitch, but he decided to ignore it for the sake of the fight.

When his laser fire did nothing but infuriate Ravage, Frenzy decided to go for the direct approach. Grinning savagely, he pounced onto Mirage’s shoulder, pommelling it as well as he could with his small but powerful fists. It was then that he made a mistake. Before Frenzy realized what he’d done, a trail of smoke blasted him in the face, sending him back onto the floor. A near-deafening _boom_ vibrated the entire med bay, following by a rain of debris.

“You _idiot_!” Rumble screamed. “You set off Mirage’s shoulder rocket!”

Frenzy stiffened as the pound of feet echoed through the hallway outside. As the doors slid open, Frenzy was reminded of a human stage show, where the curtains first slid back and the main star or the director appeared.

In this case, that was Ironhide. The weapons specialist went immediately into action, the impact of his foot finding Frenzy like a cannon blast. He flew dizzily through the air and, with a harsh cracking of glass, hit the screen beside Laserbeak, who responded by folding himself up and leaping back into Soundwave’s chest, his own mission seemingly accomplished.

Frenzy struggled to stand but cursed when he found one of his legs twisted badly backwards. Ravage, Ratbat, and Squawkbox turned their attentions to Ironhide, whose expression was unreadable. Was that a _smile_? Frenzy couldn’t be sure, but he easily heard what Ironhide said:

“Hm, three against one. If only Ratchet were here t’save you.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why this one was a little bit longer than the others, but it is. More for you to enjoy! ^v^

“Get down on the ground, scum!” Starscream shouted, knocking Megatron’s barrel against Brawn’s shoulder. “On your knees.”

Circuits in his jaw working, Brawn did as Starscream ordered, Jazz mimicking his actions a few moments afterward. The Decepticon commander smirked, but Megatron transformed out of his hand and smacked the smile off of him.

“Augh! What was that for?!” Starscream complained.

“You do _not_ use me as a club to hit Autobots, Starscream,” Megatron hissed. “Understand?!”

Starscream nodded sulkily, glaring after his leader as Megatron moved away, leaving him to guard Brawn and Jazz.

“Now,” Megatron began, sweeping up the filthy Autobots in his pleased gaze. “Which of you is in charge of this work site?”

There was no response from any of them, which made Megatron frown slightly. Starscream, hoping to help out a bit, rapped on the back of Jazz’s head. “Is it you? You’re Optimus Prime’s third in command, aren’t you?”

Jazz cast a dirty look over his shoulder. Starscream narrowed his optics ominously, snapping, “Well?”

Breaking their staring contest, Jazz put his gaze straight ahead, his speakers humming in pedal tones. Starscream gasped and clapped his hands over his audials as Jazz’s speakers suddenly pulsed with sound.

“ _Risin’ up, straight to the top; had the guts, got the glory…Went the distance, now I’m not gonna stop—just a man, and his will to survive_ —”

“If you won’t speak, _don’t_!” Megatron shouted, catching Jazz’s throat with his fist. Feedback covered Jazz’s yelp and Brawn caught him as he was bent backwards, almost in half, from the force. As Brawn helped Jazz sit back up, there were fretful murmurs among the Autobots, some jerking against the arms of their captors at Megatron.

“So if it’s not you,” Starscream continued, unfazed, “who is in charge of this excavation?”

Still no response, so Starscream strutted to Prowl and asked the rest, “Would you like to lose the second-in-command as well as your leader and medic?” He powered up his gun, noticing Megatron’s disapproving snarl but unwilling to stand down.

“Going once,” Starscream warned. “Going twice…”

“It’s Hauler,” Huffer burst out, ducking his helm as the other Autobots jerked around to gape at him. “Sorry,” he added in a whisper.

“You shouldn’t have given him up!” Prowl barked. “Megatron wouldn’t have allowed Starscream to shoot me; with Optimus gone and Ironhide occupied, I’m the highest rank, a strategic asset—!”

“Am I really that predictable?” Megatron sighed, bending down in front of Prowl, who met his optics unflinchingly. “Of course you are right, but there’s no need to gloat.”

///\\\\\

Hauler watched with cautious silence as Megatron straightened, gesturing for Starscream to pick _him_ out from the crowd. He hunched down, glad that he’d changed his colors from bright orange to a softer bronze since his last roam of Earth. He wouldn’t stand out as easily, but he was positioned quite unfortunately behind Sunstreaker, the paintjob of vanity among them.

 _Primus, don’t let them find me_ , Hauler prayed silently, his optics tracking Starscream’s every move as he shoved Autobots around, searching, searching. He was still far enough that Hauler couldn’t overhear his words if he didn’t speak up. Sneaking a glance toward the sinkhole, Hauler felt a familiar Constructicon itch in his coding. They needed to hurry, overpower these Decepticons and get back to work as soon as possible.

He had been fairly embarrassed/flattered when Prowl had requested he be in charge of the workforce. “You’re more suited, sir,” he’d said, shifting uneasily under the commander’s gaze.

Prowl had shaken his head. “Everyone has made perfectly clear that my rigid way of command is stifling. They’re overwrought without the presence of Prime and I would only make that worse.”

Hauler had tried to object again, but something in Prowl’s face advised him against it. There was a burden there that made Hauler feel slightly sick, not only for Prowl but for everyone else.

“Sir, if Prime doesn’t make it, you’ll become our leader anyway,” Hauler reminded him quietly.

Sighing, Prowl leaned against the nearby wall and concluded, “I know that. If that does happen, everyone will need to overcome their differences with me or I might need to…loosen up.”

“By the grimace, I see you probably aren’t fond of that idea,” Hauler noted with a small smile.

“True, so I expect you to do a good job with the workforce and return Prime to command as soon as possible,” Prowl agreed.

Hauler snapped out of his flashback when a hand closed over his shoulder, dragging him to his feet.

“Here he is, Lord Megatron,” Starscream called, sounding pleased. “Shall I kill him?” Hauler wanted to root his feet to the spot at those words and he tried, but Starscream lifted him off the ground so his feet only landed in air.

“Of course not!” Megatron scoffed as though it were the stupidest idea Starscream had ever had. That was saying something, Hauler knew, but he was more preoccupied with _why_ Megatron wanted him alive.

Megatron approached, staring down the bridge of his nose while Hauler stared up it back at him. “You seem quiet for someone with such a defiant gaze,” Megatron commented. “And _especially_ quiet for someone who has supposedly been giving orders.”

When Hauler proved Megatron’s words by remaining silent, Starscream shook him a bit. “Answer your master!” only for one of the Autobots to shout, “He’s _your_ master!”, though Hauler couldn’t tell which one.

Starscream opened his mouth to rant, but Megatron shushed him. “I simply want a status report from you, Hauler. What progress have you made on Optimus Prime’s recovery? And do you know who has been in charge of Soundwave’s care in Ratchet’s absence? I want to be sure he’s treated well.”

Hauler could see the anger behind the statement and glanced down. Megatron didn’t like that answer.

“Skywarp, Thundercracker! Hauler doesn’t seem too enthusiastic about his progress for Prime…Do something about that, please.”

Skywarp and Thundercracker approached the pile of boulders they had moved. Leaning together against the largest of the group, they began rolling it toward the sinkhole.

“No!” Hauler cried in horror, thrashing against Starscream’s hold. “We’ve almost reached Prime and Ratchet, but we won’t get there in time if you destroy our work!”

“You misunderstand,” Megatron sneered. “That’s exactly what we _want_ to do!”

Hauler felt the shudder as the rock fell over the hole, breaking further into the ground and into the sparks of those behind him.


	10. Chapter 10

Flipping Ravage over his shoulder and blocking out the pain as the cat’s claws slashed his back, Ironhide glanced at Mirage, who was curled in a loose fetal position against the wall.

“Mirage!” Ironhide hollered, swiping furiously at Ratbat, who was darting around his face. “Are you okay?” There was no response, so Ironhide somersaulted beneath Squawkbox’s lunge and rolled toward him, grasping his shoulder and shaking him. When that did nothing but cause him to whimper, Ironhide momentarily retreated, dragging the limp form of his comrade into the hallway outside.

“Mirage, I need you in the fight,” he declared. “Can you stand or should I leave ya out here?”

“’m sorry,” Mirage whispered, optics weakly trying to contract and focus. “Soundwave…I let m’ guard down…”

“That doesn’t matter right now; you have to—” Ironhide’s words drained out of his mouth as Mirage’s stasis lock activated and abruptly ended their conversation. When Ironhide released his shoulder, energon was smudged on his palm and wrist. He felt his chest tighten and his helm-ache from earlier return in full force at the sight of it. Mirage needed Ratchet’s help—soon. And yet _Ratchet wasn’t here_. As that thought was digested by his processor, Ironhide felt a sense of utter realization and conviction. He had let this go on far too long. Every minute of these past few days had crawled and yet somehow he hadn’t realized how quickly it had gone by.

 _That is_ it _. This stops_ right _now!_

Throwing himself to his feet, Ironhide whirled around to face his attackers and went to work. The first punch glanced Squawkbox’s chin, but the Con noticed too late that it was a feint. Ironhide’s next stroke doubled him over and sent all the air rushing from his vents.

The pain as Ratbat’s teeth caught briefly on his face was minor; as the Lamborghini twins liked to say, Ironhide was a veteran scrapper. Still, Ironhide’s state of mind boiled his anger and he swung wildly at the flyer, growling.

“You…little…fraggin’…” Ironhide took another leap with each word and on the last—“ _punk!_ ”—his attack landed, forcing Ratbat to flutter down for a painful landing.

Relentless Ravage came at him again and Ironhide pulled his twin pistols, sending out an array of fire. Ravage dodged narrowly, snarling at him and baring his long fangs.

Ironhide’s fingers stiffened with adrenaline as he held down the triggers of his weapons, doing his best to follow Ravage’s trail while trying not to hit any of Ratchet’s equipment. If the doc returned and anything was out of place—

Ironhide found himself deactivating his guns almost before he knew why. Clenching his optics shut, he turned his back to Ravage and simply stood there, the room suddenly very quiet aside from the ragged groans of Soundwave’s other cassettes.

Just as Ravage lunged, Ironhide transformed, opening the trunk of his minivan and closing Ravage into it. Ignition squealing, he began to spin, knocking Ravage around his insides. Once he was sure the cat would be too banged up to attack again, Ironhide dumped him back out by returning to his bipedal mode—just in time to train a pistol onto Soundwave, who was in the process of sitting up on the table.

“Well, now,” Ironhide greeted him in a low voice, “it’s gonna take a while for these fumes t’air out. What say you an’ I take a walk ’round the hall?”

///\\\\\

Soundwave immediately began work on recovering from his post-stasis disorientation as Ironhide prodded his back with the gun, forcing him out of the Autobot medical bay, locking Soundwave’s cassettes in there as he went. Taking note of the white and blue Autobot half-propped against the wall, Soundwave moved slightly closer, but Ironhide quickly caught onto that idea.

“Don’t you _touch_ him.”

Relenting, Soundwave let Ironhide shove him down the hall into the main computer room.

“We’re gonna look an’ see what’s happenin’ with the dig team,” Ironhide informed him sourly, punching some keys on Teletraan 1 and cursing as the screen remained blank.

“ _Do you require assistance, Ironhide?_ ” Soundwave asked as politely as he could.

“Shut up!” Ironhide hissed. “I’m not takin’ charity from Decepticons!”

“ _Suit yourself_ ,” Soundwave sighed, eyeing the gun still trained on him. He could probably rush Ironhide while he was distracted, but not without the weapon inevitably going off and hitting one of the two of them. To offline Prime’s bodyguard when he couldn’t be absolutely certain Prime was gone…If Prime returned only to find Ironhide had fallen…it would surely send the Autobot leader on a justice hunt against him. As much as Soundwave hated to admit it, that would end quite poorly for him.

Ironhide glanced back at him with an expression that held furious reluctance. “Alright,” he said quietly. “But if you do anythin’ suspicious, I’ll go back into the med bay an’ shoot every last one o’ your cassettes.”

Soundwave’s throat cables worked as he gave a curt nod and stepped toward the computer, bringing it to life.

 _Warning!_ Teletraan 1 wailed as soon as it had fully booted. _Unauthorized Decepticon access. Repeat: Unathor_ —

Ironhide’s optics widened as Soundwave silenced the alarm. “Guess we need t’get a better security system,” Prime’s bodyguard muttered.

“ _Affirmative_ ,” Soundwave agreed without taking his gaze off the screen, his fingers clicking rapidly over the keys as though it were his own computer system. As Teletraan located the dig site and brought up live footage, Soundwave felt Ironhide step close enough for their EM fields to blend at several places. Therefore it was easy for him to sense the Bot’s anxiety as they watched Starscream shaking the Autobot Constructicon, Hauler. Megatron leaned into his face, obviously speaking to him.

“Can you get us some audio?” Ironhide asked hastily. Soundwave nodded and began punching in codes, noticing how Ironhide’s gun was almost hanging at his side, very nearly forgotten. He had to take advantage of this now.

He tensed, ready to elbow Ironhide in the face and catch him off guard, but it was then that the sound activated, sending the crash of a boulder to their audials. Ironhide’s EM field buckled in horror and despair as his leader and medic were resealed in the ground.

Then Soundwave felt the despair turn and realized that Ironhide might be just as dangerous as Prime.

“Soundwave,” Ironhide addressed him without looking at him, his voice shaking not in angst but in a barely suppressed, crazed rage. “I…need t’borrow Laserbeak.”


	11. Chapter 11

As Thundercracker and Skywarp began the work of moving more rocks back over the crevice, Megatron gauged the reactions of the Autobots carefully, examining each for their level of dismay. The higher the rank, the worse the reaction, Megatron noted. His enemies were so predictable.

“Prowl,” Megatron addressed the second-in-command, who was currently struggling and failing to secrete his emotion. “You said Ironhide, Prime’s bodyguard, is ‘occupied’? Where is he? Back at your base? Since I don’t see him, I’m right, aren’t I?” He beckoned to Starscream. “Bring me Jazz, will you?”

Starscream tossed Hauler to the dirt with a pained grunt from the Constructicon and pounced on the third-in-command. Jazz’s expression was uncharacteristically venomous as he was dragged nose-to-nose with Megatron.

“I apologize for my blow to your throat,” Megatron told him. “I’m sure if Ratchet were here, he would assure you it will heal quickly.” He almost laughed at Jazz’s flinch in response to the medic’s name. “Without him, though, you’ll have to settle for _my_ word.” Catching a finger against Jazz’s visor, Megatron tugged lightly. “What should I do to you and your comrades?”

“If I won’t speak, I _don’t_ ,” Jazz spat Megatron’s earlier words back at him, his vocalizer laced with static. “And vice versa.”

Megatron was about to bark back at him when he heard a screech from above. Laserbeak landed quite abruptly on his shoulder, a webcam activating and projecting an image of the Autobot base into the air between him and Jazz.

Ironhide met his optics with cold rage that Megatron could sense even through the projection. “Megatron,” Prime’s (ex)bodyguard addressed him. “I wanna make a deal with you.”

Megatron raised his eyebrows, starting, “Why would I—?”

“My weapon is currently aimed at Soundwave’s chest, directly over his spark.”

Megatron’s intended speech froze.

“Yeh, that’s right,” Ironhide clarified, baring his teeth in a savage grin. “I’m gonna kill him. Unless…you undo the damage you’ve done to the excavation an’ _then some_.”

“You—” Megatron tried.

“No, let’s talk about _you!_ ” Ironhide cut in again. “If you ever wanna see your com. officer again, you’re gonna rescue Ratchet an’ Prime!”

Megatron sputtered a little, causing Jazz to smirk and remark, “Looks like Ironhide’s got you over an exhaust pipe, doesn’t he?”

Remaining silent, Megatron simply stared at Soundwave, who wasn’t looking back at him but rather down at the open hatch on his chest and the gun Ironhide had shoved into it. The shot would undoubtedly kill him, as well as any cassettes still inside.

Cursing himself for his weakness—and cursing Soundwave for _being_ his weakness—Megatron hollered, “Decepticons! Remove the wreckage from the crevice immediately! Anyone who questions my orders I will remodel for use as a shovel! _Now!_ ”

///\\\\\

Prowl watched in utter shock as the Decepticons launched into action, leaving their prisoners completely unguarded and practically diving into the nearby sinkhole.

The rest of the Autobots had jaws hanging just as low as Prowl’s, but Jazz, having been abandoned by Starscream, recovered first.

“Autobots,” he spoke in a voice tinged with awe as he turned to face them, “get…get to work helpin’ them.”

Sideswipe was the first to rise to his feet, mumbling, “Yes, sir.” With that he strode forward, bending down next to Thundercracker and maneuvering his hands beneath a good-sized rock.

The rest of the Autobots trailed after him, picking up speed as they grew bolder in the fact that the Cons wouldn’t harm them. The setup went against everything Prowl could think of, yet it still seemed to be happening before his optics.

Realizing he was the last Bot upon his knees, he scrambled to his feet, only to freeze instinctively as the lead Constructicon, Scrapper, shouted for all to hear:

“Constructicons! Transform: Phase One!”

A growing shadow loomed over him as the Constructicons came together like agreeing magnets, spinning around and screwing into each other, forming their giant alternate mode.

“Transform: Phase Two!”

The other Autobots whirled around, scattering into pairs to get away from the feet of the construct coming together.

“The Devastator can take apart anything!” several voices spoke in sync from one mouth. As he backed out of the giant Cybertronian’s way, Prowl glanced sideways and saw Hauler rising to his feet, brushing dust off his chassis. He looked quite small and alone as he stared up at the construct of his ex-team.

Prowl felt a sharp pang of sympathy and opened his mouth to call out to Hauler. _Join them_. It was obvious that he wanted to—there was a place for him in the construct, there always had been. The other Constructicons had simply been coping with Hauler’s absence since their reprogramming. He belonged with them!

He moved forward a bit and the pain on Hauler’s face simply confirmed Prowl’s train of thought. Then Hauler shuttered his optics and turned sharply away from Devastator, striding forward at a brisk pace with his fists clenched at his sides.

“Bots, move to the right! Get out of the way, let Devastator do his work! He needs the way clear to the largest objective, but you take care of the smaller ones spread around it! Make it quick if you want to avoid a few dents from things flying!”

 _No_ , Prowl realized suddenly as Hauler scrambled on top of a rock Devastator moved to start giving orders. _He’s where he belongs right now_. For a moment he remembered the conversation he’d had with Hauler before they’d returned here to start work.

_“…everyone will need to overcome their differences with me or I might need to…loosen up.”_

_“By the grimace, I see you probably aren’t fond of that idea.”_

Tucking that memory quickly away, Prowl jogged toward the hole and settled in to dig next to Jazz.


	12. Chapter 12

Pressed flat against the ground, Optimus’ vents congested with each intake of air, making him cough violently. The burns on his front that he had forgotten about were getting aggravated too and yet he couldn’t soothe them. He could feel bits of glass from that long-ago energon canister pressing deeper into his side. Still, he wasn’t thinking about any of that.

“Ra—” He coughed again, his vocalizer refusing to reboot because it was clogged with dust. “—tchet!” it finished after a five-second delay. No response. All Prime could see was dust floating over his optic lenses, so he tried to move his arm, which had been bent awkwardly upward next to his helm, and found it not quite impossible but nearly.

 _Where are you, old friend?_ His fingers probed where he couldn’t see, bits of data reaching his sensory processor. Rock. Dust. Energon…

 _No, no_ …Optimus carefully touched the Bot blood, sensing that it was immediately fresh. Ratchet’s wound was still draining on the other side of this cave-in. How much blood had he lost while they were down here? Optimus tried to weigh the time and found himself failing. Every moment had seemed like hours down here; he’d lost track of them. Panic choked him better than the dust ever could and he reached as far as he could, trying to dig through the rocks around the little energon trail and coughing when he tried to call out.

_Please be alive. Please answer me. Don’t leave me alone._

Optimus dug and dug, blunting the tips of his fingers and straining every cable in his arm. His sensory net complained against his current movements but still he went on and at last struck metal with a dull clang. Optimus squinted at the metal. Most of it was brown with dirt, but the rest of it was glimmering blue.

“Ratchet,” Optimus croaked. “Your shoulder—your energon—”

The medic didn’t answer verbally, instead working up a shiver that continued far past when Optimus hoped it would stop.

 **::C-Can’t…breathe,::** were the first words the medic forced out. Autobots didn’t breathe, but Optimus understood what he meant and focused more on Ratchet’s tone and the fact that he’d spoken in their home Tongue. It could have been the drop in plating temperature that made his words quiver, but Optimus could also hear a catch in his throat that meant something different.

“I know…you’re scared,” Optimus whispered, touching the quivering metal where he could reach. “I am too, but…focus on calming down.”

 **::Can’t…breathe,::** Ratchet repeated, still in Cybertronian and quieter than before. **::Can’t…::**

Knowing that he wouldn’t be heard, Optimus whimpered slightly. Ratchet’s processor was in a loop, a sure sign of septic shock. Battling his fear with the only movement possible, Optimus ran his hand along Ratchet’s arm, eventually finding his hand and weaving their fingers together.

///\\\\\

This went against everything in Ratchet’s coding. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be repeating the same sentence over and over again, but he couldn’t help himself.

 _Stop it, stop it!_ his processor screamed something different than his mouth. _Let me talk to Prime! I need to tell him I’m okay!_

 _But I’m_ not _okay. Processor loop—septic shock. I’m not gonna last long._

Ratchet’s shivering increased in his dread. He was going to die and leave Prime alone here? Frag it, he would fight as long as he could! Pulling up his taxed self-repair codes, Ratchet forced their input, cursing inwardly when he felt no activation. Most of them had already been used for the pain on his shoulder; they would barely be of any assistance now.

Knowing he wouldn’t be able to move with the dirt packed around him and unable to speak anything other than “Can’t breathe”, Ratchet wondered what he might say if he could speak freely with Prime. What would his goodbye be?

 _You’ve been a good friend, Prime. No, a_ great _friend. I wish I could say I have been too. You’d probably say it for me._

_Sorry about the wrenches I’ve used to hit you. Usually I’ve been aiming at Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, but you always come into the med bay at the worst of times._

Deactivation codes popped up in his processor, sending Ratchet through a still, paralyzed panic attack. He _was_ dying—truly dying. He had seen this in other Bots many times and had always been perplexed by the fact that the codes appeared furthest from their critical injuries and then worked their way _toward_ it. After that they would go to the spark. His codes were numbing his feet at the moment.

_I’m sorry for all the times I irritated you and yet I’m glad it was usually just irritation and not anger. I probably couldn’t stand it if you got angry with me, Prime. You’re frightening when you’re angry. But that bit of anger right before this ceiling collapsed, that was okay. I deserved that._

His knees were losing feeling now and Ratchet sped up his thoughts a bit.

_No matter how stressed out or irritated you were, though, you were always there for me. You could really listen to me when I needed to vent something._

He was paraplegic. His unwounded arm was starting to tingle. Ratchet vented more hurriedly as light began shifting back and forth around him. Was it the light of the Allspark twinkling toward him?

_Prime, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for being so…so…Whatever mistakes I’ve made toward you, I’m sorry. I wish I could’ve done more to help win the war. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you; you’re dying with me and I can’t do anything about it!_

His throat failed suddenly and the only comfort Ratchet could take in that fact was that it shut him up. Prime didn’t have to hear his plea for breath anymore.

_I’m scared, Prime, I’m scared. Help me accept this!_

Ratchet sobbed mutely as he felt a miracle—a brush of fingers over his wrist. Prime then clamped more strongly around his hand, squeezing his fingers in a grip that was shaking but surely there.

 _You’re scared too…We can be scared together, Optimus_.

A sudden blast of white light from above blinded him and forced his optics shut. The deactivation codes paused at his wrist, hesitating as Ratchet’s body was raised up by many arms.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, few things I should mention:  
> 1) This is a long one, longer than any of the others.  
> 2) I know NOTHING about First Aid, so I'm so sorry if his dialogue is inaccurate. I did the best I could!

“It’s just down here, First Aid,” Bumblebee called, picking up speed as he turned the corner toward the Autobot dig site. He took up some more speed, hoping to see from a distance if they had made much progress in retrieving Ratchet and Prime. He’d been gone far too long, he admonished himself severely.

“Tell me again what happened,” First Aid replied, matching his speed with just as much impatience.

“Ratchet and Optimus were trapped in this sinkhole by Megatron,” Bumblebee explained. “I knew the other Bots were going to get right onto fishing them out, but since it’s _Ratchet_ down there, I thought we’d need some…well, first aid!”

“Well, in that case, I’m sorry it took you so long to find me!” First Aid replied, worry coloring his voice.

“No, it’s fine,” Bumblebee brushed him off, even though in his opinion it was just a little bit less than ‘fine’. “You were busy on the other side of the state.”

“So you haven’t been here since the attack happened?” First Aid clarified, muttering something to himself about what injuries he might need to treat.

“No,” Bumblebee sighed. “But I think it’s for the best. There were so many Autobots at the site already; I knew I had to make myself useful somewhere else. Still, they ought to have—” Screeching to a stop, Bumblebee nearly fishtailed but quickly righted himself, transforming and standing as tall as he could, jaw dropping.

First Aid followed his example, pointing to the giant green and purple form in the sky before them. “Is that Devastator?!”

“Do you need to ask?!” Bumblebee demanded. “C’mon! Let’s go to the base! What if Ironhide doesn’t know we’re being attacked?” He didn’t know exactly what Ironhide alone could do about that, but he didn’t care. They soon reached the _Ark_ and Bumblebee bolted for the control room, again stopping short and stumbling over his own feet when he saw Soundwave sitting on the floor, calmly staring at him.

“Soundwave!” Bumblebee shouted a warning, charging his weapons.

“Stand down, Bee, I’ve got this covered,” Ironhide commanded, waving him off. “He’s my prisoner. I made a deal with Megatron an’ he’s helpin’ rescue Ratchet an’ Prime in exchange for Soundwave’s life.”

“Mirage!” First Aid gasped, his inner medic taking over as he strode down the hall and knelt next to their fallen comrade.

“Oh, yeah,” Ironhide murmured. “Good thing you went for him, Bumblebee.”

“Why is Mirage lying _outside_ the medical bay and not in it?” First Aid asked, picking up Mirage and moving toward the door.

Ironhide lunged toward him. “I—wouldn’t do that if I were you!”

“Why not?”

Ironhide hesitated and glanced toward the hatch in Soundwave’s chest, an unusually sheepish smile taking over his face. Bumblebee shook his head and gestured for him to explain.

///\\\\\

Starscream watched in growing fury as the medic’s body was pulled out of the nearby hole and Autobots clustered around it, chattering frantically all at once.

“He’s alive, but he’s wounded!” Sideswipe cried. “Losing energon _fast_ —Where’s the—?”

“His rotator cup,” another voice answered weakly, making Starscream’s spark weaken in a sense of defeat that quickly bolstered his wrath. There was Prime, utterly, disgustingly filthy but alive, supported by Prowl and Jazz. Their support didn’t mean much, however, as his knees buckled and he sank like a rock in water, suddenly yet somehow fluidly. Prowl and Jazz tried to manipulate his fall, twisting and landing him on his back about ten yards away from Ratchet. Prime turned his helm slightly, muttering something to Prowl before seemingly losing his grasp on the situation.

“He’s been bleeding since they fell,” Prowl declared, causing a bit of hope to flare in Starscream, crushing it immediately afterward as the second-in-command added, “Wait—Ironhide’s messaging me…First Aid is on his way!”

Starscream sent an accusing look toward Megatron, who stood nearby with his back turned to the nearby scene, radiating grim calculation. Was their master going to simply stand there and do nothing as his archenemy was brought back to life?!

That would not— _could_ not—be tolerated! Growling, Starscream whirled around and hefted up a large, jagged rock, charging with a wordless scream.

///\\\\\

“Finished! This is _definitely_ a chemical that’ll melt rock!” Wheeljack exclaimed as he jerked back from the bottle of chemical he’d just completed. As soon as the Cons had released them, he’d darted to his tool kits and gotten back to work, anxious to help in any way he could.

 _Good thing there aren’t any humans around_ , he thought as he watched the fumes rise from the top. _This would probably be_ terrible _for them!_ He paused a moment, peering at his creation warily, wondering if it would explode.

A high-pitched scream startled him, turning him around just in time to see Starscream rushing forward, holding a rock up high and obviously about to bring it down on—

Everything clicked in that moment. His own rage bringing power to his arm, Wheeljack geared up and hurled the bottle of chemical at the Decepticon commander. The fuming liquid splattered on the rock, melting it harmlessly before spilling all over its bearer. Starscream shrieked, reaching an even higher pitch than before as he dropped and rolled into the dirt to kill the burning sensation.

“Hydrofluoric acid!” Wheeljack barked, shoving Bots and Cons alike out of his way to stand over the writhing Seeker. “That’s what you get for trying to offline a Bot who you just rescued!” Leaning down, Wheeljack spat in addition, “I was actually surprised you went for Ratchet and not Prime, but going for the wounded prey and all—you really are a coward.”

“And don’t you try anythin’ either, Megatron!” Jazz added sharply. “You don’t have Soundwave yet, after all. Go back to your hidey-hole and I’ll see that he’s released.”

“You’ll regret this!” Megatron threatened poorly as he stepped over Starscream and took to the skies, Skywarp and Thundercracker following. Devastator separated into his different components and the Constructicons hesitated, seeming to wonder what to do about Starscream, still lying on the ground.

“You should go,” Hauler suggested softly. “He’ll catch up eventually.”

Scrapper nodded briskly, agreeing, “Yeah, he will…” and reached out, awkwardly brushing some dust from Hauler’s shoulder before he turned and fled with the others. Hauler relaxed and Wheeljack moved toward him, brushing dust from his _other_ shoulder.

“Y’know, Megatron said we’ll regret this,” Wheeljack remarked, “but now that Optimus and Ratchet are back, I think _he_ will.”

Hauler nodded with a satisfied ex-vent, gesturing toward Starscream, who was struggling to his feet and limping after his comrades. “And he _definitely_ will.” Whatever he was going to say next was interrupted by a huff of laughter that no one recognized. They all whirled and each felt the same disbelief from the other when they saw Prowl beaming from audial to audial.

“That was a brilliant strategy, Wheeljack,” he declared, starting to laugh harder. “But it would have been _so_ much better if it had exploded on impact!”

Jazz, who stood beside him, stammered, “Wow. Never thought I’d see— _this_ …You…Okay, we need to _remember_ this!” His speakers blared and with only a small bit of feedback began to play. “ _And another one gone—and another one gone—and another one bites the dust!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aahh, just one chapter left! O.O


	14. Chapter 14

Optimus sank down outside the medical bay, pressing his hand over his optics, trying to relieve some of the pressure behind them. First Aid had been in there with Ratchet for quite a while and Optimus knew he’d never be able to focus on anything else until he was sure his friend would be alright.

“Prime! You’re supposed t’be restin’!”

Optimus’ helm jerked up at Ironhide’s voice and under different circumstances he might have smiled at his overprotective bodyguard, but right now he simply sighed. “No. I’m supposed to be in there with him.”

“Odd,” Ironhide remarked with obvious sarcasm. “Cos I seem to remember First Aid assignin’ you to your chamber with an energon IV—one which isn’t here, I see.”

Optimus did smile then, but it was short-lived. “I don’t need it.”

“Prime. You were down there for nearly three days.”

“Yes, but I want Ratchet to have it when he comes out.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure there’re plenty to go around.” Settling down next to Optimus, Ironhide followed his gaze toward the closed med bay doors. “He’ll be—”

“Please don’t say it,” Optimus cut in quietly. “Everyone has been saying it and I simply want to wait and find out for myself.”

Ironhide pursed his mouth and nodded wordlessly, remaining with him until First Aid opened the doors.

“He’ll be fine,” First Aid unknowingly echoed what everyone else had been saying, but to Optimus it was the only time the words mattered. “I have to admit, there was a while there when I wasn’t sure, but I filtered out the bad energon and took off the arm, so the infection’s ending. ”

“He won’t be able to work until his arm is replaced,” Optimus stated.

First Aid shook his helm. “He won’t be able to _sit up_ until the fresh energon circulates through all of his systems.” Blinking somewhat incredulously, he seemed to realize who he was speaking to. “Optimus Prime, _what_ are you doing out of your chamber? Where’s your—?”

As Optimus quickly skirted around the flustered medic, Ironhide snickered and pulled First Aid out of the doorway to give their leader some privacy. Optimus made a mental note to thank Ironhide later as he moved toward the prone form of his medic.

From what he’d heard, Soundwave had been lying here earlier, Optimus recalled, unease roiling through him. What had Ironhide said was the damage? He knew it had been confined to the medical bay, but he couldn’t quite remember how many of the cassettes had been let loose. Were they sure they had caught them all? They had checked in all quarters, right? And Mirage—he had assigned someone to watch him for the night, hadn’t he?

Ratchet. He was here about _Ratchet_. Struggling to push the after-crisis cleanup to the back of his thoughts, Optimus sat on the edge of the medical berth. It was eerie seeing Ratchet sedated, not to mention the missing left arm. Optimus opened his mouth to try speaking to him but decided against it, his optics dropping to his lap and staying there.

///\\\\\

As the post-surgery sedation wore off, Ratchet’s first thought was _I almost died_. He knew somehow that he hadn’t, but he couldn’t help onlining his optics with more enthusiasm than usual to prove it. Pain flared throughout his body and he grimaced, silencing the belated red alerts. Feeling a presence near his right foot, Ratchet looked down and saw Optimus sitting next to him on the berth, helm bowed and shoulders hunched as though against a great burden.

“Optimus?” Ratchet called in a low tone that went unanswered. When he looked closer, Ratchet realized with sympathy that his friend was recharging upright. Hoping he was alert enough to scold Optimus for it, Ratchet gently tapped the edge of his foot against the small of Optimus’ back. The Prime jerked, his systems blinking on with a distressed whirr.

“Your backstrut will curse you to the Pit if you don’t lie down,” Ratchet whispered, feeling like a hypocrite for the fact that his own backstrut was starting to throb even though he was prostrate. In fact, _everything_ was throbbing.

“Ratchet,” Optimus breathed, leaning toward the pain reliever button and pushing it a few times for him, obviously not paying attention to the fact that he was being scolded. “How long have you been conscious?”

“Only a minute or so,” Ratchet replied, slowly relaxing as the painkillers cooled his circuits. “How long have you been waiting?”

Optimus paused, his optics dim in contemplation that shouldn’t have taken as long as it did. “I’m unsure,” he said at last, gingerly massaging his neck cables, already regretting his impromptu nap as Ratchet had predicted.

“Are you going to recharge any more tonight, Optimus, or should I plan to resuscitate you in the morning?” Ratchet inquired flatly, deciding after he said it that if his left arm had been attached, if there hadn’t been an IV in his _right_ arm, and if he’d had the strength, he would have slapped himself. No more threats about death, not until this was long in the past.

 _I almost died_.

With that he was out again, the trauma of surgery, the chemicals in his IV, and sheer exhaustion overwhelming him. He came to occasionally and each time Optimus was still sitting there, watching him with intent focus that would have been unnerving to anyone else. Ratchet was comforted; he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to be alone again.

The fifth or sixth time it happened, Ratchet fought against the drugs’ insistence to meet Prime’s gaze. They sat in utter silence for a long time, knowing exactly what the other was thinking yet loath to confirm. Optimus rose without a word and started for the doors, leaving Ratchet with a painfully stark sense of despair. Trying to shove it away, he turned onto his right side and stared at the wall, his anxiety pulsing out through the entire bay, swallowing the clean air. Clenching his teeth and shuttering his optics, Ratchet curled into himself, suddenly very aware of his still-passing fever.

He was half-delirious when he felt his plating scrape on the medical berth and then fall (rise?) into open air. When he floundered a little, trying to find a solid surface, his remaining arm struck cooler metal. He muttered a question he hoped was intelligible, but by the time he was answered he was being laid back down on a different berth and a thermal tarp was wrapped around him.

“I told you I wouldn’t get a good night’s recharge until I was back in my own chamber,” Optimus whispered as he settled close beside him, their EM fields attuning to each other. “But I couldn’t leave you alone.”

Somehow Ratchet’s monitors had moved with him into Optimus’ room, codes beeping quietly. It reminded Ratchet of his deactivation codes, of Optimus’ hand anchoring him. When next he looked down, he found that hand there, over his own. Again it was the last thing holding him to reality before he dropped into final, restful recharge simultaneously with Prime.

 _No one gets left behind_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus "Variation on a Theme" draws to a close...
> 
> To any readers who have stuck with me through all fourteen chapters, thank you for your faithfulness to myself, the characters, and the fandom! I specifically want to thank the user [Insecuriosity](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Insecuriosity) and the guest "Bloxxsaur". I've had so much fun replying to all your comments and critiques! ((Bloxxsaur, would you consider getting an account here?)) It'd be awesome if you continued reading my things and helping me out, maybe being a few of my beta readers? It's up to you.
> 
> Stay tuned for another G1 story at any time! :D


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